


Milkshake

by xXx_BloodyRow_xXx (FishLordVehem)



Series: Saint Vampire [1]
Category: Saints Row, Vampire: The Masquerade, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Blood, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishLordVehem/pseuds/xXx_BloodyRow_xXx
Summary: Elijah returns home, in an awful state, after a date with Viv.  Doucelin is, as always, ready to help.





	Milkshake

**Author's Note:**

> These are all original characters who are, at this point, who aren't yet involved in the goings-on in Stilwater. There's a glossary in the end notes.

_"Doucelin!"_ Elijah called, already seeing red. He'd made it to the bathroom, at least, before he could no longer keep himself from vomiting, and his hands hovered in the air by his head, twitching, writhing as he retched. The bestial part of him wanted to _twist,_ to take his _proper_ shape and _claw_ out of the building, _stalking_ that sweet scent of cold sweat he liked so much, following footsteps and listening, _alert,_ for anyone who might get in his way on his _hunt._ Anything with a pulsing, beating, jumping _heartbeat_ would fall to his _might_ and his _fangs._ _"DOUCEL'N!"_

Elijah repeated himself once more, knowing he had to warn  the man of the potential for frenzy, but unable to remember how to even speak, only able to echo  his partner's name like a parrot, the vowels and consonants losing more of their form with each and every repeated cry. 

A _heart_ approached, Elijah could hear it through the door, could smell Doucelin's _sweat_ and felt the man's _calm_ forcefully overtaking his anxiety. Eli, too, then felt calm, focusing on that feeling rather than his own desire, his _need_ to tear things apart and _feed_ and fix the _sick_ _ness_ he had ingested.

Calm. Anxiety. Concern. _Love._

These were all things Doucelin felt,  emotions that  Elijah received from him over the blood bond. At such a close range, it was easy for him to accept that his  _mate_ 's feelings were also his own, and  he marveled that Doucelin was not over whelmed by  the struggling sens ations that struck back out across the bond— Elijah's own emotions were haywire and electric and  _awful_ \---the fact that Doucelin was keeping cool with all this was a testament to his patience, poise and reliability.

The Vitae in Elijah churned, desperate to spit out every ounce of _poison_ that he'd ingested earlier this evening, but the hands twitching near Elijah's head slowed, gradually relaxing, and he let them fall to his lap as he took a moment to evaluate himself, to gather his wits.  Aside from the sick, and the slight panic from coming so close to frenzying---he wasn't really feeling much of anything except disgruntled that he had consumed so much _poison_ purposefully, and even disgusted at the way it had come back up and taken so much of his _blood_ _\---_ Vitae with it. At least he'd managed to keep it all down until he'd entered the apartment, using an odd mix of Fortitude and Protean to keep himself from...what was the saying? "Losing lunch"...? It's not something Elijah has ever had to say about himself, in his centuries of unlife, and pondering the metaphor and the many others he was not sure about helped to distract him from the distress the Beast felt at his recent, self-inflicted illness.

The Thing Inside, whilst still fervently hungry, relaxed somewhat in the safety of the apartment's bathroom, and with the presence of his partner on the other side of the door, Elijah, too, was able to relax quite a bit.

Still, relaxed or no, the Beast wanted to feed again—on real food, on real prey, on  _blood_ \--- and the threat of Frenzying hung overhead like an anvil strung up by fishing wire.  "Doucelin..." Elijah repeated, managing to set aside the Beast's nature  to try once more to communicate . "I got really sick..."

"You fed from something you shouldn't have," Duke observed from the other side of the bathroom door, the sound of a cooler rolling to a stop in front of it. "Come out here and drink."

The cooler smelled like blood and plastic and even from here, Elijah could _smell_ the cold, could feel it in his nose. He realized then he must have changed slightly, inadvertently giving himself a sharper nose and more perceptive ears. He tried vainly to wipe away the altered form his face had taken before shuffling carefully on hands and knees towards the door, being careful not to let his claws get stuck in the bathmats. He felt Doucelin move back as he approached, and waited for him to step into the living room by the front door, where he could escape easily if the Beast snapped, if Elijah did frenzy tonight. When he could feel Doucelin settled in position out there, a hopefully safe distance away, Elijah opened the door and dove into the thankfully already opened cooler.

Doucelin stepped fully out of the apartment, right then. He knew what to do, at times like this, to keep himself safe, and he did so, allowing Elijah some privacy. Elijah was quite grateful for this. There was a mess in the bathroom, and now another in the hallway as he tore plastic bags open with his fangs and drank.

The blood was cold and some of the older stuff in here near solid. Furthermore, much of it wasn't even his preferred type—but by this point, the things that usually made him turn up his nose didn't matter much to Eli. Sure, his Beast paced inside and reminded him a good source of blood was readily near—it did not want _cold_ , they'd already had _cold_ and the cold had been _sick---_ it knew they could simply **order** Doucelin to _bleed_ and drink from fresh, _good_ blood. But Elijah had already won out over The Thing Inside and ignored its desires, even going so far as allowing himself to overfeed on this...this shit blood\---this cold, nasty, awful stuff---all to ensure he would have no dangerous hunger for his dear partner at all.

When he'd finished, he did not overlook his embarrassing mess for long, merely paused enough to hear if Doucelin had returned inside or not (he had, he was coming right this way, having sensed the moment Elijah had sated himself and was no longer a threat) and Elijah crawled back into the bathroom before standing up and staggering into the shower.

Now, the blood bond conveyed relief from both ends: crisis averted. Time to wash up, to rid themselves of the mess. Doucelin remained greatly concerned (and curious) that Elijah had been sick in the first place, and further worried about the metaphorical anvil hanging overhead, about that near-frenzy—but he was grateful Elijah had not fallen into torpor or otherwise died from his illness, and additionally appreciative that Elijah had made a mess of their stock of blood, and not his neck or wrists.

Elijah, too, was glad he hadn't fallen to the Beast's instincts, hadn't attached himself to Doucelin, despite how much better that experience would have been. Considering his hunger, how close to frenzying as he had been...Duke might not have survived a Kiss tonight. Their stocky plastic cooler held evidence enough of this, being mess of unnecessarily shredded bags and spilled blood. Despite Doucelin's making sure the container was open and ready before Elijah got to it, the cooler itself had suffered as Elijah had apparently grabbed and crushed the lid's hinge whilst gorging himself. However, the last time he'd had to stick his head in a cooler to feed, it had been a worse, much messier experience—Duke hadn't thought to open it for him that time, so in a frenzy, Elijah had cracked it open like a giant nut and back then, they kept very potent blood types in there---feasting on those had left Elijah sated much more quickly, but addled, and he lay in the remains of the cooler and the blood packs uselessly stoned for hours until another of his kind had to move him out of the way.

This time...this time was much better. Since most of the blood in the new cooler had been...shitty, Elijah had to consume much more of it than if it were his favored type, but on the plus side he was not nearly as out of it as he had been back then.

The shower was refreshing—ordinarily, Elijah wouldn't care if the water was warm or cool, he hardly noticed it most of the time, but tonight he started as hot as his instincts would allow and soaped himself thoroughly in an attempt to disinfect. Luckily, most of the gore had stuck to his clothes rather than his skin, and the foul fabrics had already been contained to one of the plastic buckets they kept around the house just for such occasions. For good measure, he scrubbed his face a second time, then a third, and thoroughly brushed his teeth, making sure to scrape the toothbrush especially well around his fangs. He rinsed his mouth out with the hot water, too, then set the toothbrush aside on the edge of the tub with the intention of cleaning it in boiling water and following up with a soak in hydrogen peroxide later.

When he was sure he was clean, he altered the temperature entirely in the opposite direction, hoping the shock of cold would snap him into focus—only to find he could not make it cold enough to deliver the shock he desired. If Doucelin stepped in the water now, he'd certainly freeze, but all Elijah felt was that the water hitting his skin was wet—if he had not turned the knob himself, he most likely would not have noticed any temperature change at all.

Doucelin waited for him just outside the door with fresh clothes and Elijah changed quickly, careful to avoid brushing up against the liquid spatter remaining in the bathroom and hallway.

Cleaning up the blood was a combined effort, which was not unusual for the way their relationship had taken form these last few generations. Gone were the days when Elijah would leave it to Doucelin to clean, and Doucelin, too, had stopped insisting that Elijah deal with his blood spatter on his own a whole  eternity ago , and they now worked in tandem, the blood bond between them strong enough that they did not even have to speak to know what the other was  feeling .

Doucelin was no longer anxious at all. A bit concerned, yes, but the longer he mopped, shoulder to shoulder with Elijah, the more he became relaxed, and at the start Elijah found himself concerned and anxious about his own stupidity—embarrassment really, is what it was, though he felt some disdain towards identifying it as such. Elijah could, with some reluctance, admit what he'd done was...a mistake. But he wouldn't. He honestly didn't even want to think about it at all. Not now anyway. Tense, at first, he found, too, that as he scrubbed, shoulder to shoulder with Doucelin, he grew more and more relaxed as well, until he could finally say something other than the man's name.

Sensing Elijah was ready to speak, but knowing after their centuries together that  the man needed a prompt to really get rolling, Doucelin nudged  him . "So...what did you eat?" He said in the same tone of voice he used when Silver and Vasundhara's children had grown sick from eating too much candy or ate strange leaves outside, and Elijah made a face, not appreciating being likened to a child but at the same time knowing full well he'd made the same mistake  _they_ did. While Duke's tone was warm, welcoming, encouraging, and playful, Elijah absolutely did not want to admit what he'd done.

"It was...a drink," he admitted anyway , despite his embarrassment. "Of some sort. Cold." The Beast rolled at the word, at the memory, but  otherwise was settl ed quietly after the recent consumption of Vitae.

"Oh? Why'd you drink it?" Doucelin sat up on his bent knees, overseeing their progress. By the time he'd prompted Elijah, the floor of the hall had been just about done (and now was completely clean), and the walls were mostly clear, if faintly stained—they'd been talking about repainting anyway, so neither had worried much about that—and that left the bathroom.

From his partner, Elijah felt disheartened—for a moment he worried Doucelin was upset by his drinking something he shouldn't have---but then he too turned to see the bloody hand-prints on the toilet seat and bowl, the fingermarks on the walls and bathtub and shower curtain, the heavy droplets of drying Vitae where he'd missed the toilet and the running streaks along the sink where he'd tried to steady himself. It was a disheartening sort of mess---the hall felt like it had taken ages to clean as it was, and now there was all... _that_ to deal with.

"Might just leave it to housekeeping..." Doucelin said in a quiet, sing-song voice, rolling his eyes, and then looked to Elijah expectantly for an answer to the earlier question.

"I..." Elijah blinked and sat back on his own legs, wanting to  respond clearly, but unsure of himself. Why  _had_ he drunk? He could have said no, or dominated Viv to make him think that he  _had_ accepted the...beverage. But instead he...he had... _drunk._ "I've spoke n to you of Viv before." Elijah finally managed.

"Yes," wadding up their old and now bio-hazardous towels together, Doucelin dropped them all in a bin to be discarded later. "Was this..." he gestured at the vile room. "...His doing? Shall we make him clean it up?"

A jest. Elijah didn't laugh, however, he did give a small smile. "I...Vivian, has had some concern, that—over the course of knowing each other—he has never seen me eat at all. Anything. Ever."

"Is that so weird?" Doucelin pressed, tilting his head. "There are many people I haven't seen eat---"

"There have been...outings. Dinners. Lunches," Elijah adds quickly, almost shifty-eyed with guilt. "I don't ever...partake."

"But this time, you did," Doucelin realizes, giving Elijah nothing less than his full attention.

"Yes. I...Vivian, was concerned, and I...I didn't want to...to dominate him." That was important, now, to both of them. There were vampires who used their domination, their "mind-control" or "hypnosis" disciplines rather judiciously—but Elijah wasn't one of those, he strived not to be. "But I wasn't sure I could---I mean, I couldn't...reveal my _nature_ either, you know, not there, anyway---not in public---so I...I played it off like an illness and told him I was on a strictly liquid diet. It was...mostly a joke, for myself, I suppose---"

"So...regardless of the thoughts behind _that_ action---" Duke pushed, his eyes fixated on the bathroom now as he tried to decide where to start. "---unless that's important—what _happened?"_

"Vivian..." Elijah reached to pull at his sleeves, but Doucelin stopped his bloodied hand from soiling his crisp clean clothes. "...He...he was so...He asked me..."

"So, like, what about a milkshake?" Viv had perked up after Elijah had mentioned the "liquid diet", and while Elijah was about to turn him down, Viv had looked...so...eager.

"I...don't honestly know what that is," Elijah stated. Doucelin made and tried so much food it was hard to keep track of, and Eli hadn't bothered to learn the new names of food over the last several years. He'd never _needed_ to.

"Really?! Well, it's got milk in it for one.  Because it's...it's drinkable ice cream , basically .  Are you lactose-intolerant?"

"...I'm pretty much  _everything_ intolerant," Elijah admitted ruefully, but Viv was still...so...so.. . _cute._ "You get yourself one, and I'll try it."

Viv brightened at that, and Elijah ( while dreading the thought of having to put something that  _wasn't blood at all_ in his mouth ) was looking forward to...to  _sharing_ more with Viv.

"Hold it," Doucelin said, raising a hand. "You did this because you wanted to 'share more with Viv'."

"Yes."

" And you said he was cute."

"I said he was eager."

"You said cute."

"Eager."

"Don't argue. Do you know what that means, _mon_ _loup_ _?"_

The word did not come out instantly, but he couldn't help but smile—he knew exactly what it meant. _"_ _Oui._ _"_ It hung in the air like a balloon, and Doucelin's next question was like a needle aimed straight for it.

"Is pretending to be something you're not, is lying like this making you happy?"

Elijah's shoulders slumped near comically low, his face falling with it. "Not entirely."

"Would you be happier if you revealed yourself, and Viv accepted you?"

"...Yes. I think so. But... _Doudou_ ...I don't want to lose Viv. I don't want him to...to dislike me. I quite like him very much, you see. "

"You will lose him sooner or later, if you keep lying to him," Doucelin said softly, running his soapy hand over Elijah's still bloodied one. "He'll catch on, unless you leave sometime, or dominate him to make him not care or think about it and so forth."

"I don't want to leave. I don't want to dominate him."

"What _do_ you want, _loup_?"

Thinking, Elijah closed his eyes and leaned back slightly. "I want to wash my hands." Doucelin laughed and went with him to the sink, standing hip to hip as they scrubbed the remains of the drying blood and harsh soap from their skin. "I...I want Viv to love me for who I am," Eli muttered, then, surprising him. "Without having to lie. Without pretending. Without using disciplines...or...or leaving...I want...I want to\---" he tilted forward, planting his face on Doucelin's shoulder. "I want it so bad, Doucelin, and I'm so...I don't...I haven't..."

"That's fear, Elijah," Doucelin said in a near-whisper. "What you're feeling now is fear."

"I'm not afraid of Viv!" Elijah snapped, turning his face up to glare at Doucelin.

"No, not of  _him_ ," his voice was soft, and again, Elijah felt only reassurance and calm over their bond. "You're afraid of change. You're afraid of risk. You're afraid of exposing yourself, and you're afraid he won't like you anymore when you reveal yourself to be Kindred. I can feel it all over  our bond,  _ma mie."_

Grumbling, Elijah buried his face in Duke's shoulder once more. "You're full of shit .  The bond doesn't work like tha t and you know it ."

Amused, Doucelin kissed the top of his head and smiled down at him. "Then look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong, stupid."

Lifting his head again, Elijah met Doucelin's face. "You're wrong, stupid," he growled, though there wasn't any  _oomph_ to it, it was meaningless, it was just noise.

"You're lying," Doucelin laughed. "You're lying! I can tell, I can feel it! Just talk to him, Elijah! Just talk to him---!"

A gently placed hand over his mouth had stopped Doucelin and a second later Elijah fell away from his shoulder to flop onto the freshly cleaned (and still wet) tile.  "Aaaaaugh. Stop talking."

"Don't lie there, you're in the way!" Doucelin nudged him with a foot, and when Elijah's only response was to grimace, Doucelin gave up on encouraging him to move and simply hoisted him up over his shoulder and out to the hall. "You go on and talk to Viv tomorrow night," Doucelin ordered, dropping Elijah on the couch and sitting on top of him. "If I have to feel any more angst over this blood bond I swear I will go out and solve this problem myself."

"Ah, would you?" Elijah asked, smile perking into something endearing, eyes going full puppy.

"Oh, absolutely. I'll just tell  this  Viv all about the secret sides of you myself. " Comforted, Elijah relaxed and held Doucelin's hands. If anyone could do this right, it was Doucelin. Doucelin, who knew Elijah the longest, since they were children. Doucelin, who was there through thick and thin, through frenzy and torpor and everything in between. Doucelin, who was well-versed in partnerships and love, and so many other things, too. Doucelin could do this—he would talk to Viv, and he would do it  _right_ . Yes, this was the solution Elijah needed all along, and his heart soared at the offer. "First, I'll tell him you're a furry."

"Noooooooooooooooooo---"

"I'll tell him all about you being otherkin---"

_"Noooooo_ \---" Elijah reached back for a throw pillow to mute him, but Duke sidled off the couch quickly and darted towards the kitchen.

"And your thing for Ringo---" dodging the airborne throw pillow, Duke picked it back up and threw it directly at Elijah's face, but in return got another three thrown at his chest.

"DOUCELIN. I do not--"

" _Oh,_ and what you do to furniture when you get bored?"

"Nooooo---!!!" The back and forth of pillows was impossible to keep track of. One of them was leaking feathers, too, when it landed, but that didn't stop either of them from throwing it.

"YES. I will have my revenge , Elijah! I will speak to Viv  _extensively_ about everything you've ever done to my poor couches!"

"It's not my fault!" Elijah cried .  _"Doucelin!"_

All five pillows were in the kitchen now, and Doucelin was not throwing them back—instead, he advanced on his partner. "I will tell Viv  _everything,_ Elijah, I will hold  _nothing_ back!"

Stricken, Elijah backed up. "Nooooo! I'll talk to him, I'll talk to him, I promise!"

"No, it's too late for that now," Doucelin grinned maliciously. "Give me your phone, I'll call him right now!" And he lunged as Elijah howled, the pair falling to the floor and rolling there in a scuffle for several minutes, laughing and joking an d jeering at each other. By the time Doucelin had tired, they'd forgotten all about the phone, and Elijah felt more at ease than he had been in days.

"I'll really do it, Doucelin," he said, then, lying on the floor shoulder to shoulder with Doucelin in front of their towering bookcases, fingernails tracing patterns on the back of the couch. "I'll talk to him, I will."

"I know you will, Elijah," his partner replied, softly. "But I swear by everything we each hold dear if you scratch up the back of my couch again, I will stake you myself."

Slowly, Elijah withdrew the claw he'd dug into the fabric, and carefully  removed the fluffy insulation from the tip of said claw with his other hand, pressing it gingerly back in the hole he'd created with gentl e fingertips.

"I don't love you anymore," Doucelin grumbled, already getting up to get tape to patch up  his furniture . If he didn't, Elijah's hand would inevitably wander back to th at hole , and  it would only get larger. "Go off and be monogamous with your Viv— run away with my heartfelt blessing, you bastard creature."

"I can't," bemoaned Elijah. "The sun's already up."

As expected, when Doucelin returned with the tape, Elijah's entire right hand was sunk up to the elbow in the intestines of their nice couch, and Doucelin released a furious gasp and a threat, finding he did actually have energy for another scuffle. _"Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,_ dirtbag."  Despite these bitter words and Doucelin's earlier promise, Elijah was not staked that morning, nor did he suffer any other form of torpor or Final Death at the hands of his partner. He would have to speak to Viv soon, about his nature, but Elijah knew even if he was rejected by Viv, he would still have a home and much love with Doucelin, and he kissed him to let him know he was deeply appreciated.

"Don't distract me,"  Duke said in response, stretching a piece of tape across the wound in his furniture. Still, he gave Eli a kiss in return and then , seeing what he had in his hand,  glowered at him. "Put the stuffing back in the couch or  _so help me..."_

**Author's Note:**

> For those confused, vampires can't eat food or drink things that aren't blood. Viv shared a milkshake with Elijah, and Elijah came back home horrendously ill from it.
> 
> A special Vampire: the Masquerade word glossary :  
> ghoul = what Doucelin is, he drinks Elijah's blood about once a month, and this blood keeps him from aging and makes him essentially a tougher/stronger human.  
> blood bond = in this context, it's the bond formed by Doucelin drinking Elijah's blood for centuries, and also Elijah feeding off of Doucelin. They can tell where the other is within a certain range, can feel what the other is feeling, and they can "summon" one another. Not the teleport-y kind of summon---more like a pull or a call to go to the other's location.  
> Vitae = fancy bullshit vampire word for blood  
> The Beast = the thing that makes a vampire a vampire, the monstrous instincts within that drive a vamp to kill and do other obnoxious things  
> Frenzy = a vampire going hogwild with no regard to humanity or morals or pain or anything, just a vamp going apeshit, absolutely ham. Triggered by many things---in this case, Elijah's was triggered by illness from consuming part of a milkshake, blood loss from said illness, and general stress.  
> Disciplines = vampire powers, special vampire abilities  
> Domination = vampiric ability to manipulate the mind in a sort of hypnosis-y way.  
> Stake = pointy stick, when stabbed into a vampire's heart will paralyze them and potentially send them into torpor  
> torpor = the vampire version of a coma, they seem entirely dead and lose vitae over time in their "deep sleep". Can last anywhere between hours to millenia, depending on the vampire, and most frenzy when they wake up.  
> Final Death = when a vampire dies again, but for real this time. This is a death that cannot be undone, it is final, it is over, the vampire is completely, utterly, irrevocably Dead, with a capital D.
> 
> If you'd like to know more, feel free to ask questions or visit the White Wolf wiki (just...watch your step. There's a lot of poo over there, because the people behind the newer official content are in it for gruesome shock value and have forgotten that games are supposed to be fun).


End file.
